


and 23 species of scorpions!

by FoxGlade



Category: Dragon Booster
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 18:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxGlade/pseuds/FoxGlade
Summary: “Yeah, no, we’re all fine, Dad,” Artha says into the phone, ignoring the smoke rising from the engine of the van behind him. “On schedule, definitely. And Lance is doing fine.” From inside the van, he hears a muffled sound that might be Lance screaming. “Don’t worry about it."





	and 23 species of scorpions!

**Author's Note:**

> started this at LEAST a year ago, and at some point since finished it?? presumably while drunk since i had no idea it was complete until i looked at it today. this is posted at behest of shena (who is of course to blame for the original prompt) and nellie, who responded to my saying "idk if i should post this its cheesy and gay" with "??? exactly??"
> 
> clearly this fic is not connected to any of my other ones. next chapter of quickstep is uhhhhh under construction..... i stand by my words of "before august". but it's getting there!

“Yeah, no, we’re all fine, Dad,” Artha says into the phone, ignoring the smoke rising from the engine of the van behind him. “On schedule, definitely. And Lance is doing fine.” From inside the van, he hears a muffled sound that might be Lance screaming. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll see you soon.”

He hangs up and turns around to stare at the blue and red van with his hands on his hips. A second later the door slides open and Kitt burst out, stumbling a little on the uneven step. “Has anyone ever told you that your boyfriend is a paranoid freak?” she grumbles.

“Less often than you’d think,” Artha says. He doesn’t bother correcting the ‘boyfriend’ part; after two weeks on the road, he barely even notices anymore. “Is he still hung up on the schedule?”

“He’s not freaking out or anything,” Kitt replies. She must have seen the worry on his face. She’s good like that. “You can fix the engine, right?”

“If I can’t, Parm can,” he says with a shrug. He’s no slouch in the engineering department, and he’s got more practical experience with cars than Parm anyway. “Should probably wait until tomorrow anyway.”

“Great! I always wanted to be murdered by a serial killer on the side of a desert highway,” Kitt says breezily. She turns and heads for the trunk, brightly coloured ponytail bouncing. “Dibs backseat,” she calls, and Artha curses.

Through the open door of the van he can see Parm hunched over in the front seat, pouring over the map, although Artha knows for a fact that he can’t see for shit in the dark. It’s less concerning than Lance, lying facedown on the backseat. He wanders over and ignores Parm’s mutterings in favour of crouching on the step of the van and poking Lance’s ear.

Hey, he never claimed to be in the running for Most Sensitive Big Brother of the Year, okay? Maybe something more realistic, like Most Likely to Drag Little Brother on Doomed Road Trip. At the rate this is going, he definitely has that one in the bag.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

“We’re going to die out here,” Lance says, with surprising pessimism for a ten year old.

“Kitt is a liar and I told you never to listen to her,” Artha says, and automatically flinches, expecting a wallop to the back of the head. It doesn’t come, but he does hear the trunk close rather angrily. “Seriously, I’ll fix it tomorrow and we’ll be off again.”

Lance lifts his head enough to give him a squint, then sighs. “Fine,” he says, and then his eyes widen, lips wobbling a tiny bit. It’s a masterful display. “You and Parm’ll stay outside tonight, right?” he asks, and his voice even sounds a bit thick. Artha is reluctantly impressed. “To keep an eye out for any serial killers?”

Seriously, who taught his baby brother how to act so well? Certainly not any of the three of them. “Sure, you little terror,” he says, rolling his eyes. Lance instantly drops the act and grins.

Which is how Artha and Parm end up setting down blankets and sleeping bags in the dirt a few metres from the van, soundly ignoring what is most likely the sound of Kitt laughing.

“On the bright side, it’s a lovely night,” Parm says brightly. Artha scowls and refrains from mentioning how Parm didn’t seem to think it was lovely fifteen minutes ago, when he was screeching at the map and the engine and at life in general.

“Are there coyotes in this area?” he asks, because if he has to feel irritated and slightly scared of the dark, then so does Parm.

“Probably,” Parm admits. “And mountain lions. And rattlesnakes, of course. Oh, and did you know, there are twenty three species of scorpions—?”

“Hey!” Artha interrupts brightly, “How about we just sleep on top of the van?”

The van, affectionately named Beau, is old and clunky and (usually) reliable, and on long road trips, Artha and Lance would often try and convince their dad to let them sleep on the roof. Conner, despite his occasional threats to tie them to the roof if they didn’t quiet down, never gave in. But he’s miles away, probably asleep in a real bed, with no power to stop them.

As Artha climbs onto the roof, reveling in the culmination of this childhood dream, he hears the squeaking of a window rolling down, and then Lance pops his head out. “You’re sleeping up there?” he asks.

“You know it,” Artha says, standing up to rearrange his sleeping back. The metal of the roof creaks ominously. “Uh… maybe. And before you ask, no, Lance, you can’t sleep up here.”

“Why not?” Lance whines. Artha folds his arms and tries for a Stern Parent tone.

“It’s not safe,” he tells him.

“What, and getting crushed in here by the roof is?” he hears Kitt say from the back seat.

“Anyway, you wanted us to stay outside,” he reminds his brother. Lance pouts.

“That was before it was cool,” he mumbles.

Parm is still standing in front of the car bonnet, eyeing the roof critically. “It will take both our weight, won’t it?” he asks. Artha shrugs.

“Dunno,” he replies eloquently. “Do some math. You don’t weigh anything though, it’ll be fine.”

“You can’t even lift him up!” Kitt’s muffled voice says. “Remember when he passed out on that rollercoaster—”

“That was like, a week ago!” Artha argues. “Come on Parmesan, it’ll be fine.” Parm grumbles at the nickname, then throws his sleeping bag at Artha with unnecessary force. But he follows it up by awkwardly hauling himself onto the bonnet, and then the roof.

It takes some careful movements, but they manage to wriggle into the sleeping bags flung out along the length of the roof, slightly overlapping each other between the roof racks. And the metal only creaks once or twice.

“It really is actually quite nice,” Parm says, flat on his back, eyes on the stars. Artha finds himself looking across the moonlit arid plains that surround the highway instead, but he has to agree.

“Yeah, I can barely see any scorpions from up here,” he says. Parm huffs.

“I was just trying to share some facts,” he says, but he sounds distracted rather than annoyed, so Artha lets it go. Parm starts talking again a second later anyway, pointing to something in the sky above the low mountains in the distance. “Oh! There, I found your scorpion!”

“Why is it my scorpion?” Artha asks. Parm ignores him.

“The constellation Scorpius,” he says with satisfaction. “It’s lucky that we choose this time of year to get stuck out here with no light pollution; I don’t know many other constellations.”

Artha squints and tilts his head. “I’m not seeing any scorpion,” he says. “Kinda looks like a bow and arrow, though.”

“No, that’s Orion, that’s nowhere near here,” Parm says, and a second later he sits up and shifts until his shoulder is pressed against Artha’s, their heads together as Parm points to the constellation. “The curved line of bright stars, that’s supposed to be the claws, I think. I was never really sure about that part.”

He can kind of see it now, but he’s enjoying having Parm leaning into him way too much to admit it. “Am I even looking at the right thing?” he says instead, and sure enough, Parm shuffles even closer, insistently gesturing towards the stars.

“Just look where I’m pointing,” he says. He looks back at Artha’s face, probably to check if he’s lining up properly with Artha’s eyes, but Artha looks over at the same time, and then their faces are only an inch from each other, and then Artha kisses him.

It’s brief, just a warm press of lips before he pulls away, but Parm doesn’t make a sound. He looks startled. There’s a moment of stillness. For a wild second Artha thinks he’s made a mistake – until Parm leans back in, tilting his head hesitantly to meet him again.

Artha lets out a very quiet, very embarrassing noise, especially given that it’s not exactly a spectacular kiss, more enthusiasm than experience involved. Still, he kind of feels like his skin is on fire, but in a good way, when Parm parts his lips a fraction and puts his hand on Artha’s waist. Artha shifts his weight onto one elbow, eager to reach out, touch Parm’s face or tangle a hand in his hair, or just do _something—_

His elbow slips on the shiny fabric of the sleeping bag and he goes down with a loud metallic _thunk_ , followed by a shout of “oh, bugger!”

“Whatever you guys are doing up there, we don’t wanna hear it!” Kitt shouts from inside the van below them.

“You bit my lip!” Parm says a second later, voice muffled through his hands as he clutches his mouth. Artha prays to the scorpion gods that Kitt and Lance hadn’t heard it.

A thump from the other side of the van’s roof. “Impressionable kid here!” Kitt says, “Keep it clean!”

“Now I wish the roof _had_ crushed us,” Lance says, with the distinct muffled quality of someone holding a pillow over their head.

Artha is really tempted to help that along, but he resists the urge. “You okay?” he asks Parm instead. Parm nods, holding the back of his hand against his bottom lip.

“It’s not bleeding much,” he replies awkwardly. Artha scratches his neck.

“Sorry,” he says, in lieu of anything else. What’s he gonna say, ‘Want me to kiss it better?’

...well, actually, that might work, but he’s not gonna push his luck. For all he knows, the roof really will collapse on them.

“It’s fine,” Parm sighs, which is disheartening, as is the way he shifts to lie on his back without looking at Artha, who follows suit.

His mood lifts when a hand finds his in the darkness, even as Parm studiously looks up at the stars instead of at him. He grins and rubs a thumb over Parm’s knuckles and settles back. It really is a beautiful night out, after all.


End file.
